Saved From Solitude
by Ardenna Ouvrard
Summary: Celeste is employed at the newly rebuilt Paris Opera, and doesn't believe the stories of the Opera Ghost. When the very alive Ghost visits her, both of their lives are altered drastically. Can Erik's heart mend? Will Celeste accept his genius and his love
1. Arrival

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

Here it is, kids. I'll admit, it didn't quite turn out how I wanted it, but I have hope for the other chapters. I'd like to remind you that this fic is more based off the musical than anything, as I like it more than any other medium. But if you've never seen the show, you should still be able to follow it. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any character, place, etc. mentioned in this story. They are property of Gaston Leroux and/or Andrew Lloyd Webber, and their respective copyrights.

**Chapter 1**

Paris stood proudly to her residents on this fresh September morning. The sun was peeking out ever so gracefully to greet the world. Already the citizens of this beautiful city were bustling about their business. A small patisserie owner was wiping down the windows of his shop. Next door, the woman who ran the jewelry shop opened the blinds. Store owners all over the city unlocked their doors and customers hurried in.

Celeste Moreaux, however, held no interest in a chocolate pastry or diamonds, nor the finest wines for the fall or the sheerest fabric. Today had in store something of more merit. This very morning Celeste had been summoned from her small English flat to audition for the managers of the world renowned Paris Opéra. This was the opportunity she'd dreamed of all her life. A chance to sing opera, her life's calling, in the country of her birth. On top of that, the interview was at the most famous opera house in Europe!

Her chest tightened with excitement and anxiety. Although she was born in a small village outside Avignon, in the south of France, she had lived most of her childhood in England and parts of Italy. Celeste had left with her mother when she was a toddler after her father left them for his other family. Madame Moreaux decided to give her child a life of excitement, rather than focus on their diminishing finances and lack of a father figure. So Celeste and her mother sold their cottage and everything they couldn't carry on a journey and purchased a trip to Italy. There, Celeste studied with the greatest of Italian divas and ballerinas.

When she was fourteen, she moved to Venice where she was quite the little starlet. She sang in many parts in many operas until she was invited by the Royal Family in England to sing at the Royal Opera House. She accepted without a second though, and began the journey to London. Unfortunately, along the way, her mother grew ill and passed away shortly before settling in England. Celeste was heartbroken. To keep her mind off her grief, she threw herself into her work. And she had done so for the last four years. Then, out of the blue, her manager recommended her to Paris, where an unfortunate accident rendered them without a principle soprano or tenor.

And that's what she was doing here today. She clung to her worn leather bag as she made her way up the stairs of the Paris Opéra. Celeste shivered as the building loomed over her coldly, golden angels sneering at her from their pedestals. Both amazed and intimidated by the grandeur of the opera house, she began to wonder what frightened her about this place, and what intrigued her. It had to be the stories. On her commute back to France, she'd heard numerous things about the fall of the Opera House. She hadn't believed a word of them, naturally, but even so they added some flavor to Parisian culture. Honestly, anyone with common sense would know better than to believe that a ghost in dress clothes haunted the building and fell in love with one of it's principle singers. Celeste giggled at the thought. Such rubbish would only make a good story to tell children to frighten them.

She opened the large doors and entered into the foyer. On her left, a door opened and a woman with pitch black hair and a cane entered through it. She wore flowing black garments and a matching bonnet perched on her head. Celeste smiled warmly at her and walked over. "_Excuse-moi, Madame_, but I am looking for the managers here. Could you tell me where their offices are?"

The woman stopped and stood very straight. She held her body very strongly and offered a firm grin in return. "Bien sûr. Just down this hallway on your right and up the wooden stairs. This will take you to a narrow hallway. There will be door on the right that says 'Managers.'"

She thanked the woman, and after climbing a second flight of stairs, Celeste found the office of the managers of the Opera. She pulled out a slip of paper and read their names to herself to remind her of them. A Monsieur Firmin and a Monsieur André. Her mind wandered to the gossip surrounding them as she raised a hand to knock on the door. According to the girls on the carriage, the infamous Opera Ghost would send them hateful notes, commanding them to obey his orders or else. Celeste sighed and shook her head at those silly fillies, deciding to turn her mind to the task at hand. She rapped briskly at the door and stood patiently.

A few moments later, a tall, handsome man answered the door. He was younger than she expected, especially considering the numerous graying hairs on his head. His face was worn and slightly pale. He smiled wearily at her and held a hand out to her. "You must be our new girl."

Celeste smiled back and shook his hand. "Yes, I do hope so. I'm Celeste Moreaux."

The man patted her hand before gently leading her in. The office was painfully bare, a cream colored wallpaper and a few wall sconces. In it, it contained two desks, one a dull oak and another a deep cherry. Both were buried under a mass of paperwork. As Celeste looked down at her feet, she noticed the carpet had once been a deep red, but now just a faded mass of rust colored cigar burns and wine stains.

The manager indicated himself and then another man in the room. "I'm Monsieur Firmin, and this is my partner, Monsieur André. André, this is Mademoiselle Moreaux, here to audition for us."

Monsieur André stood from behind his desk and walked over to Celeste. He was a very stout man, with an unmanageably thick mustache. He appeared to be about the same age as M. Firmin, but with hair much grayer. His eyes were welcoming, and instead of shaking Celeste's hand, he raised to his lips and brushed it against them. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle."

Celeste bowed her head and grinned. "And you, Monsieur. I have with me a letter of recommendation from the managers from the last opera house I performed at, and-"

M. Firmin nodded and held up a hand respectfully. "Ah, yes. We received a letter from them as well. Can't remember what we did with it though." He began to rummage though a stack of envelopes on his desk, flipping through all kinds of letters and packages. "Where was it you were at, again?"

"I was with the Royal Opera, in London. The managers told me this establishment had some sort of incident in which...oh, what was it? Your two divas? One quit and the other...?"

"Frightened away," M. André interjected, accidentally dropping several of the envelopes on the floor. "Drat," he grumbled, easing himself onto the floor to collect them.

Celeste knelt and began gathering the letters. Then a certain envelope caught her eye. It was different from the others, made up of a dark, heavy parchment. But most of all, Celeste noticed the seal. A menacing skull, curled into a wicked smile. Beside each eye socket was a letter, in elegant script: 'O' and 'G.'

Furrowing a brow, Celeste held up the letter and examined it. "What a curious seal. I've never seen a seal like this before." M. Firmin quickly strode over and yanked it from her hand. "Er...sorry, Mademoiselle Moreaux, but this is highly confidential. I'm sure you'll understand."

Celeste blinked and gathered the rest of the envelopes, standing. "Of course. I apologize, I didn't mean to pry."

Monsieur André stood as well and accepted the letters from Celeste. "Quite alright, my dear. Now, it was the Royal Opera, you say?"

She nodded and pulled a letter of her own from her leather bag. "Yes. Before that, I traveled with my mother to different theatres all over France and England. If you'd like a list, I'd be glad to write one out for you."

André shook his head. "No need. To perform at the Royal Opera is qualification enough. I will take that letter, however." He reached out a hand to her. Celeste placed the crisp envelope into his hand. As André scanned the page, Firmin walked over to his desk and suggested the plush chair in front of it for Celeste.

After she sat, Firmin sat in his own chair and folded his hands on the sleek finished wood of his desk. "So, Mademoiselle Moreaux, what circumstances influenced you to leave the Royal Opera? Surely you weren't fired."

Celeste shook her head. "No, sir. Mister Whittingham, the manager-in-chief of the Opera, mentioned to me the incident with your former singers. He also mentioned that because of said incident, you were closing for the season and when you re-opened, you'd need a new lead soprano. He said that I should come to audition for you and that singing here would be a good opportunity for me."

André, having finished the letter, approached the two and nodded. "You do seem qualified for the job. What do you think, Monsieur Firmin?"

Firmin nodded as well. "I agree. I say we give her the job."

"Just like that? Without an audition?" Celeste interjected.

André sighed heavily. "Well, you see, my dear, there just simply aren't any more applicants. Everyone else who is qualified is too frightened of the place. I don't know if you know this but, we had a bit of a...problem...along with our sopranos leaving us."

"I understand completely, Messieurs." Celeste offered. "I'll confess, I've heard the tales of the famed 'Opera Ghost.' And you needed worry. I don't believe a word of it. I'm sure your sopranos had important reason for leaving, nevertheless, I won't pry into your business any more than I need to."

The men looked nervously at each other. "Well, then, it's settled," M. Firmin said. "We'll begin rehearsals this Thursday, and until then, here's a copy of the libretto."

Celeste beamed. "Really? Oh, Messieurs, thank you!" She stood and shook their hands, accepting the libretto from Firmin. She glanced down at the title page, flipping through the sheet music and notes. "_Pretentious Woman? _I've never heard of it. Whose is it?"

The managers looked at each other again. "It's from an amateur writer here in the city. He sold it to us to get a start on his music career," André said. Celeste cocked an eyebrow and nodded, continuing to read her music.

"This is the most challenging music I've ever seen. Your amateur must be some genius. Or completely ignorant."

The managers both chuckled uncomfortably and escorted her to the door. André spoke first. "We're sorry to rush you, Mademoiselle, but we do have business to tend to, several other appointments to meet. Please, make yourself at home. If you need, please take advantage of our new housing annex. Your assigned dressing room will be the one at the end of the hall backstage with the miniature staircase. And, by all means, _be careful_."

'Be careful?' Celeste was confused. What an unusual warning, especially when one hasn't even begun work yet. Was it because of the 'problems' her new managers were having? Or was it something much more? Celeste found it rather strange that she hadn't even been in the building an hour and so many odd things had occurred. She decided instead to keep quiet and smile gratefully. "Thank you, again, good sirs. Thursday, yes?"

The managers nodded and said their goodbyes, closing the door. Celeste sighed, both relieved that she had been employed, and uncomfortable that the managers seemed so eager to get rid of her. Shrugging her shoulders, she instead figured it would be best to check out her new dressing room and try to find empty quarters in the housing annex.

Celeste made her way down the staircase and out to the foyer, taking the grand staircase to the stage and backstage areas. What she didn't know was that while she being interviewed, and even now as she walked, a pair of silent eyes hovered steadily over her, watching her every move. The figure stalked her wordlessly as she trekked the aisles and the passage backstage. It leered eagerly as Celeste maneuvered through the old sets and costumes to her dressing room. She couldn't see the form of a man that loomed overhead as she padded up the three steps inside, and danced joyously around the room. The specter smirked, and decided he'd watch the child later. He had some business to attend to.

Meanwhile, Celeste collapsed on the overstuffed pink chaise and looked around. The room was very handsome, with screens for changing clothes, a lustrous vanity and most enticingly, the huge floor-to-ceiling mirror along the back wall. She rose from her seat and stood in front of it, running her fingertip along the shimmering gold trim around the edges. This was much nicer than anything she'd be given at any of the places she was employed at. Celeste was determined to stay here until the end of her singing days. She vowed, then and there, to let nothing chase her away. Nothing.


	2. First Day on the Job

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

Hello again! Sorry it took so long, but as I explained in my Pirates fic, I've been dealing with college classes, and it kinda took a while. Anyhow, it'll take a while to get the next chapter out, as classes start in a few weeks. So enjoy this while you can!

**You can show me how much you enjoy it by leaving me reviews! Hint, hint.**

**Chapter 2**

The next few days came and went, leaving Celeste what felt like mere seconds to learn her music. Even as she sat onstage on Thursday morning, waiting for the rest of the cast to show up, she felt confused, frustrated, and incompetent. Usually, by now, she'd have a grasp of what exactly was going on in the music, but this time was different. Never before had she heard such complicated rhythms or intricate chords. After hours of trying to figure out just the first fifteen measures of her first aria, Celeste grew to deeply despise the author of the opera, judging that he could only be a genius or an absolute idiot.

Celeste was pulled from her thoughts as the managers began to stride up the steps to the stage. They looked very disgruntled, trying desperately to hide it under plastered smiles. Celeste noticed a crumpled piece of parchment sticking out of Monsieur Firmin's coat pocket. Almost as if he knew she was looking, he stuffed the parchment as deep into his pocket as it would go. He nudged André inconspicuously in the ribs and, on cue, André's quivery voice boomed out as the other actors filed onstage.

"Attention, all! Before we begin our daily warm-ups and run-throughs, I'd like to introduce our newest addition, Mademoiselle Celeste Moreaux!"

He indicated Celeste and the others applauded unenthusiastically. Celeste waved nervously at the crowd and André cleared his throat. "Mademoiselle Moreaux will be taking the place of our lead soprano. I think I speak on behalf of the entire company when I say we wish her the best of luck and the best of safety."

Celeste was the only one that laughed. The company stared at her disapprovingly before turning their attention back to André. He cleared his throat again and continued speaking. "Now, we've got a lot of ground to cover today, so if you will please give your attention to Madame Giry..."

He indicated the woman in the black frock that Celeste spoke with the day of her interview. She strode swiftly to André's side and knocked her cane on the hardwood floor of the stage. "Good morning everyone." She said, supporting her upper-torso with intense strength. "I require my girls to line up downstage for exercises, and if you will, Mademoiselle Moreaux, join them--"

Madame Giry assigned everyone in the company a position of practice, much to the disdain of the managers. They tried many times to interject, but to no avail. Once everyone was bustling about to warm-up their voices or their muscles, Celeste made her way downstage. The tiny bodies of the corp de ballet was pirouetting and touching their noses to their knees. Celeste began to panic. She'd only done a little bit of ballet growing up, and never anything as extensive as what she was witnessing. A gasp of panic came from her lips before Madame Giry glided to her side, hovering over her.

"It's nice to see you once again, Mademoiselle. I'd like to say that it'd would be in your best interests to warm-up with my girls before we begin your routine," she said, leading Celeste over to the group.

Celeste frowned. "I apologize, Madame, but...I've never done ballet before. I don't even own a pair of slippers."

Madame Giry's eyes bulged and she pursed her lips. "That is a tragedy, my dear. However, it will not exempt you from practice. Your role requires a demanding routine and it will take weeks for your body to get into shape. Let me see your feet."

Celeste was puzzled. She clumsily pulled off her shoes and lifted her leg onto the bar nearby. Madame Giry leaned over to inspect, getting much too close for comfort. Celeste tried to stay still, even when her arches were being poked and prodded. Giry made a 'hmph' and stood straight again. "It's as I thought. You appear to my Meg's size. Until a pair has been made for you, you may borrow her old pair. Meg!"

Kate removed her leg from the bar and massaged her now aching leg muscles. A petite blonde girl shuffled over to them, curtsying to Celeste. Madame Giry stood taller and straighter than ever and looked down at the girl. "Mademoiselle Moreaux has need of your spare ballet slippers. Hurry, run to your dorm and fetch them. Move!"

Meg nodded and smiled brightly to Celeste before rushing out to the housing annex. Madame Giry huffed importantly and turned back to Celeste. "I must help the other girls practice. When Meg returns, she will help you lace the slippers and show you how to tie them on properly. She will also run you through the normal exercises. When that's finishes, you two may join the group and we will learn the routine."

Madame Giry nodded once and whirled off to the other girls. Celeste watched intently, making the smallest movements to copy them. This isn't exactly how she expected to spend the morning. Her music was far more important than some dance. How was she supposed to practice if she didn't even understand it? She bit her lip and watched the other girls. They were fortunate that they only had dancing to worry about.

Celeste saw Meg hurrying over to her, a worn pair of pinkish-white ballet slippers dangling from her hands. She stopped when she reached Celeste, panting and out of breath. Celeste took the shoes from her and smiled. "Thank you, Meg. I'm Celeste."

Meg looked up and returned the smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Celeste," she said. "Come, sit down and I'll show you how to put these wicked fiends on..."

The two sat on the floor and Meg unlaced her own slippers to demonstrate. Celeste slipped them onto her feet. She noticed that even though they were worn, they were also very stiff and constrictive. Meg pulled the ribbons tight, and Celeste followed suit. She winced, feeling as though the shoes were trying to swallow her feet. As Meg laced the slippers and tied them, Celeste did the same. Meg stood and indicated that Celeste should do the same. Celeste gasped when she landed on her feet and she was certain the shoes were cutting of the circulation. Meg ignored this and began stretching, and Celeste tried to imitate her. Her muscles ached and burned before the end of the first two exercises, and the torment went on for another twenty minutes.

When Celeste was thoroughly exhausted, the girls joined the rest of the corp de ballet. Meg stepped in line and began her dance. Madame Giry grabbed Celeste's arm and pulled her aside. "I hope your warm-up went well, Mademoiselle. How do you like the shoes?"

Celeste chose not to lie to this woman, and instead nodded her answer. "Good." Madame Giry said. "Well, you've stretched, so we'll begin your routine immediately. Now, for the first few bars of the aria you'll remain still. And then at measure 16, I believe, you'll begin with this." She moved majestically, humming the beats as she danced. She stopped and motioned that Celeste should now do the same. Celeste uneasily attempted the movements, feeling very humiliated. The girls began to giggle and Madame Giry pounded her cane on the floor to regain order.

"Not even close, my dear. Here, I'll do it with you, and pay attention this time." She began to move again, stopping every now and then so Celeste could catch up. They went through the routine several times, and whenever they reached a particularly complicated part, Madame Giry would step behind her and place her hands on Celeste's arms or hips and move them appropriately.

Soon enough, Celeste had caught on and doing her routine on her own. Madame Giry smiled politely and held a hand up to stop her practice. "Lovely, dear. Now, continue to work on that until the managers need you, and we'll go over the rest of the segments tomorrow."

Celeste's eyes became as large as dinner plates and her mouth dropped. "There's more than this?!" she cried.

Madame Giry looked shocked, as if that was the most ignorant question she'd ever been asked. "Of course, dear. But don't worry. There are only 6 more like it." Celeste watched in horror as Madame Giry retreated, seriousness etched over her face. As she began her practice again, Celeste prayed that the managers would call her over to warm up her voice instead.

Unfortunately for her, that didn't happen at this practice, and Celeste spent the remaining three hours of rehearsal perfecting her routine. At long last, Messieurs Firmin, André, and Madame Giry stood upstage and cleared their throats (or in Madame Giry's case, thudded her cane against the floor).

"Well done, everyone!" Firmin exclaimed. "We will resume rehearsals on Monday! Also, we'd like to remind you that the Annual Fundraising Ball is two Wednesdays from next, so have your costumes ready! Use this three day rest time to finish them, and we'll see you all on Monday morning, 10 AM sharp! You're dismissed."

The company scattered off in different directions, going about their business. Celeste limped off backstage towards her dressing room, and Meg caught up with her. "I'm sorry about the shoes. But you'll get used to them after a while."

Celeste nodded, wincing up the stairs. "I'm sure I will. Thanks again for letting me borrow them. Would you like to come in? I've had no one to talk to since I arrived, and I'd love some company."

Meg smiled and followed up the steps inside Celeste's dressing room. Celeste plopped down in front of the vanity and Meg took a look around. She'd not been in this room since 'the incident,' as the girls called it. So much had changed...the walls were once a rich green with gold trim, and now it was covered in a deep blue with brass trim. Meg shook her head sadly. "He must have changed it. It probably reminded him of her..." Meg mumbled.

Celeste looked over at her, confused. "Who did?"

Meg snapped out of her reverie and smiled. "Nothing. I was just muttering to myself. So, how long do you plan to be with us?" she asked, sitting on the chaise.

Celeste eased the ballet slippers off her feet. "As long as I'm needed, I expect. I suppose that could be years. But that'd be wonderful, at least I'd be employed."

Meg nodded her agreement, her eyes flickering to the mirror. She wasn't sure, but she thought she could detect a familiar presence behind it...perhaps it was just paranoia. Celeste began brushing her hair and wrapped it in a tight bun as Meg began to speak. "I'm surprised you took the post here. All the others were afraid." she squeaked, solemnity washing over her features.

A laugh came from Celeste and she went behind her screen to change. "Oh, not because of that Opera Ghost nonsense?" she giggled, throwing her dress over the top and reaching for a dressing gown. "Honestly, that's no reason to turn down an opportunity at one of the worlds grandest opera houses."

Celeste giggled again, and Meg looked to the mirror with pleading eyes. "Well, I suppose they have good reason to be frightened. I can't blame them. I was here when the ordeal took place."

With the dressing gown now donned, Celeste returned from behind her screen, a bewildered expression on her face. "Meg, not you too! You're a sensible young woman, surely you don't believe in ghosts!"

Meg tried to protest, her attention fixed on the mirror. "Well, no...and yes. But I was there, I witnessed it, I--" Meg sighed and shook her head. "Nevermind." Meg stood and walked calmly over to Celeste. "Just...try to be careful. I really like you, Celeste, and I think we could be good friends. Don't give anyone any reason to hurt you. Please." Meg patted Celeste's shoulder and the shrill cry of _"Meg!!" _rang through the backstage area, alerting everyone that Madame Giry was looking for her daughter. Celeste grinned at Meg as she padded out of the room to meet her mother. Once she was alone, she closed the door, sighing. Was she the only person in this building who wasn't afraid of some spooky ghost story? And why was Meg so fascinated with her mirror?

Celeste put on her soft and comfortable slippers, standing in front of the mirror. She stared at her reflection for several minutes, every now and again reaching up to fix her hair or remove a splotch of sweat from her brow. And then, almost unnoticeably, Celeste thought she saw something else in the mirror, something behind it. For a split second, Celeste saw a man, dressed in the finest dress clothes she'd ever seen. He was glaring at her from behind a white mask...

Celeste cried out in surprise, stepping away from the glass. She shook her head and looked up again. All she saw was her reflection. Bemused, she eased herself into the chaise that Meg had just vacated. She wanted to sleep, to forget about the chaos of the day's events. She wanted to relax and sew something, or knit something. Anything to get her mind off the tiring measures the afternoon had brought her...and what she _thought_ she jus saw.

Unfortunately, the entity behind her mirror had other plans.

"Tsk tsk tsk. Lazy and easily tiresome. Not at all unlike your predecessor," a disembodied voice said. "We'll soon correct that."


End file.
